


between the mountains and the sea

by seasaltgasoline



Series: these hands are meant to hold [5]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hiking, Holidays, Jeju, Marriage Proposal, Music Festival, Romance, Stargazing, Vacation, beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29257869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasaltgasoline/pseuds/seasaltgasoline
Summary: Seoul’s become home, but it’s in Jeju that you and Chris take the next step in your relationship.(a year and a half afterpaper walls)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Reader
Series: these hands are meant to hold [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018063
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	between the mountains and the sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heyheybrownieboy (quirkyteal)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkyteal/gifts).



> \- This is part of [these hands are meant to hold](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018063) \- you should read the other parts first, for context.  
> \- At this point, Y/N has been living in Korea for just about two years, and she and Chris have been together for around three and a half years  
> \- I know absolutely nothing about Jeju Island except for what I saw on Hyori’s Bed & Breakfast, and I mostly relied on Google except in situations where I was too lazy to look it up. All inaccuracies are the result of my laziness and ignorance.  
> \- I would like to dedicate this fic to my dear Ellie, my beta and my true sister in fandom hell. Happy birthday <3  
> \- Playlist: This took me like, a long time to write (I actually started on it before [paper walls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28444728)) so the soundtrack for this is roughly 1. The Script’s eponymous album from 2008 2. This is Dreamcatcher on Spotify and 3. Itzy’s title tracks in English

***

You’ve decided that you like Jeju.

Chris says you’re biased, because anything near the ocean gets bonus points in your book, but there’s something about the island that speaks to you. Seogwipo-si is a small but lovely city, lush greenery and rolling hills and blue water, buildings dotting the skyline, and there’s a freshness to the air, despite the sticky, sweltering heat of the Korean summer. 

It’s the perfect spot for a vacation. 

When the sun goes down the stickiness of the day melts into a refreshing coolness, and you’re relishing it, clad in a linen blouse and ripped jeans, sunglasses on your head. You’re perched on a plastic chair in the VIP section of the music festival on the shore, basking in the bright neon and heavy bass that spills out into the night. 

3RACHA are tearing apart the stage, fierce and powerful as the crowd surges around them, and if anybody looked at you now, you’re sure that all they’d be able to see is how smitten you are. 

Chris looks good on stage - he’d gone back to blonde a month ago, bleaching his hair platinum, and it’s a contrast to the rest of his outfit, all tight black jeans and a muscle tank that puts his abs and arms on full display, the audience going absolutely wild when he raises his arms, exposing the lean lines of his body.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't enjoying the view. 

You don’t get to see 3RACHA perform all that often, especially outside of Seoul, not with how busy you can get with work. They've come far from when you first met them, going from playing in bars and clubs to performance halls and music festivals, and it’s enjoyable to see them in their element. Changbin’s off like a bullet train, rapping a hundred miles a minute, and Han is hyping him up, Chris chiming in swiftly, their voices clear in the summer air. 

You take a sip of your beer, and settle back in your seat, letting the sounds of the festival wash over you. When the boys walk offstage to raucous cheers from the crowd, you get to your feet, making your way backstage, a flash of your all-access pass - a perk of being the girlfriend of one of the performers - getting you past security easily. 

It’s crowded backstage, so it takes you some time to navigate through the mass of people, exchanging nods and greetings with various people who recognise you from your long term presence at 3RACHA’s gigs. You make it to their holding area just as Chris rounds the corner, a towel around his neck and a near-empty water bottle in hand, glistening with sweat. He grins when he sees you, handsome as always, and you smile back. 

He sweeps you up into his arms, and kisses you deeply. 

“Did you like our set?” he asks. 

You smile.

“I definitely enjoyed the view,” you inform him, skimming your fingers over the muscled expanse of skin exposed by his shirt, and his smile turns a little cocky, as he dips his head to peck you on the cheek. 

“Ew, get a room,” Han calls out, because time hasn’t changed the fact that he’s a little shit, and then he yelps as Chris swings out an arm, catching him in the stomach.

He doubles over, whining, and Changbin rolls his eyes at their antics, taking a long glug of water. 

“How are you finding Jeju, noona?” he asks, and you hum.

“It’s lovely,” you tell him, and it’s the honest truth.

***

You've been living in Korea for nearly two and a half years now, and you're doing great. Seoul’s as close to home as anywhere has come to being, including the city you were born in, and it seems to have pulled you into its embrace. 

The city life has always been for you, and you fit right in with the hustle and bustle. Something about it settles the static in your brain - and well, flight tickets aren’t that expensive, for when the urge to run gets under your skin and you find yourself itching to lose yourself in a foreign land.

But there’s been less of that, partially because the expat life is an adventure, but mostly because you have something that keeps you tethered, a lighthouse on the shore that you run towards, nevermind what you’re running away from.

At present, that something - more accurately, that someone - is lying beside you in the hotel room you’ve booked, sleeping off the aftereffects of the night before. Music festivals are often a haze of heavy bass, smoke, and booze that go on late into the wee hours, and although it’s already noon Chris is still asleep, tucked up against you. There are still two nights of the festival to go, and he needs all the rest he can get. 

You’re on vacation, your assistant having threatened you with bodily harm if you dared to respond to work messages during your week off, and so you’re content to just laze around with a pretty boy in your bed, buried beneath the comforter listening to the hum of the air-conditioning. 

And then your phone rings, the vibrations sending it right into your rib, the ringtone shrill as it cuts through the quiet.

"What the fuck," you curse, picking it up to stare at the caller ID, and Chris groans at the noise.

"Fuck, turn it off," he grumbles, voice rough with sleep, rolling over and throwing one arm over his eyes.

“It’s Xinling,” you say, surprised, and you barely have the presence of mind to throw on Chris’ t-shirt from where it’d been chucked over the bedpost before you accept the request for a video call.

It’s odd, for her to be calling you out of the blue. You've known her for over ten years, and in those years you can count on your fingers the number of times she hasn't given you a heads up if she wants you on the phone. Besides, you know she’s supposed to be in Europe, celebrating her wedding anniversary with her husband - God, you still can’t believe she’s been married for a year already - so this call is definitely unexpected. 

The call connects, and Xinling’s face fills your screen. 

“Y/N!" she yells, "oh my god babe, I've got the most exciting news for you."

She looks like she's in the hotel bathroom, clad in a bathrobe, sitting at the edge of what looks like a giant bathtub, and there’s a giddiness to her energy, a happiness palpable even over the grainy video. 

"What's up?" you ask, and Chris, now awake, lifts his head, curious.

Xinling smiles, and it’s tender, and a little nervous, which is odd because between the two of you, she’s the unflappable one. 

"I just found out and you’re the first person I’m calling and like, I don’t know how to say this and it’s still so early and things are so uncertain but I needed to tell someone and you’re my best friend and-"

"Ling," you say, gently, "what is it?"

She looks you right in the eye, and raises something to the camera, a handful of plastic sticks with two small lines running down the indicators at the end of them, stark under the light. 

Your eyes widen.

“Oh my god,” you start, “is that -”

Xinling beams at you, brilliant and beautiful. 

"I'm pregnant."

The shriek you let out startles Chris right out of bed. 

***

The second night of the festival is another riot of noise and colour. 3RACHA were actually only up on the first day, but Chris is spinning on the rest of the nights, a couple of hours in-between all the other acts. Han and Changbin are taking advantage of the situation to catch up with friends in the scene, and so that’s how you find yourself back on the beach, working your way through a tray of shots with Hwang Hyunjin.

Hyunjin's presence at the festival is a feat of impeccable timing. He's just wrapped up filming for a drama in Jeju, and well, there's no better branding for a music festival than having a blindingly attractive supermodel-actor photographed sitting in the VIP section in tight jeans and a shirt from fucking Prada, even if said supermodel is only there for one night of the event. His hair's been dyed black for the drama, artfully styled, and it makes him look even younger than he actually is.

You’re acutely aware of the cameras surreptitiously pointed in your direction, but Hyunjin isn’t concerned.

“Any entertainment site worth their salt knows you’re Chan-hyung’s girlfriend and that he and I are good friends,” he says, flapping his hand absently, “now, Y/N, have another shot.” 

You obey. It’s a terrible trait of yours, that when you’re facing a crisis in your life you try to drown yourself in alcohol and nicotine, and since smoking isn’t actually allowed in the main festival area, you’re currently running a personal bet with yourself about how many shots you’ll finish in the next ten minutes. 

Hyunjin props his head up on the table, tucking his chin into his palm.

“What’s eating you?” he asks, and you sigh. 

Of all of Chris’ friends, you're probably closest to Hyunjin. It’s likely because he reminds you of Xinling - they both have a flair for the dramatic, and they're far more astute than they let on, with the same razor-sharp ability to see through bullshit. 

“My best friend is having a baby,” you tell him, “she asked me to be godmother.”

“That’s great!” he chirps, and then he blinks, “wait, that  _ is _ good news right?”

“It’s fantastic news,” you answer, picking up another shot, “she’s been talking about starting a family for ages, and I’m very happy for her.”

You toss it back, and Hyunjin squints at you in a way that you’re sure he thinks is cute, but actually makes him look like a cock-eyed, if rather handsome, weasel. 

“But?”

“But I just feel so old,” you complain, and he scoffs.

“Please, you’re only thirty-”

“Twenty-nine,” you interject, because the Korean age system just makes you feel ancient.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. 

“Whatever, same difference. You’re still young, Y/N, it’s fine.” 

That's rich, coming from a twenty-four-year-old, and you drag your hands over your face. 

“I just feel like I’m being left behind,” you admit, “I know we're all going at our own pace but everyone around me is growing up and growing old, and sometimes it feels like I’m still stuck in place.”

Hyunjin looks at you for one long, slow moment, thoughtful and considering, and then he pushes another shot across the table.

“Drink up, Y/N,” he says, “we’re getting wasted tonight.” 

He picks up a drink of his own, and the two of you clink glasses before knocking back the shots. 

***

You’re maybe regretting letting Hyunjin talk you into drinking so much, because you’re not twenty anymore and your head hurts like  _ hell. _

Chris, to his credit, is very sweet about it, having ordered room service for lunch and rifled through your suitcase in search of ibuprofen. 

“How much did you and Hyunjin drink yesterday?” he asks, carding his fingers through your hair, "the two of you looked fine when I caught up with you." 

The medication has kicked in, and you’re feeling more human, so you crawl out from your nest of blankets to snuggle closer to him, tucking yourself against his side, under his arm. 

“Remember, I do a pretty good impression of sobriety,” you answer, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. 

The two of you are lying in bed, curled up in each other, the TV soft and low in the background, playing a rerun of some weird game show. You have to get up and get dressed soon, in preparation for the last night of the festival, but you're feeling so cozy, the AC on full blast and the blankets tangled around your legs. 

“Feeling better?” Chris asks, and you nod. 

“Much,” you answer, and he hums. You’re on the verge of dozing off, the bed warm and comfortable, although you can’t afford to, and you say so.

Chris looks at you, and he has that sneaky, slightly mischievous expression he gets when he’s about to start trouble.

“I know something that’ll keep you awake,” he murmurs, one hand heavy on your thigh, and you arch a brow.

“We have to leave in forty minutes, and neither of us are dressed,” you say, warningly, but you curl your fingers around his bicep, tugging him closer. 

“That’s plenty of time,” Chris murmurs, his eyes dark as his hand inches steadily up your thigh.

You look at him.

“Forty minutes,” you remind him, even as you tangle your fingers in his hair to pull him in for a hungry kiss, and his smile is just shy of wicked.

The two of you turn up at the hotel lobby nearly an hour later, a hickey high on Chris’ jaw and another peeking out from the collar of your shirt, both of you shower-fresh but still a little disheveled. 

Changbin hides his face behind the magazine he’d been flipping through, and Han scowls.

“Your libido is supposed to decrease as you get older,” he whines, “how are the two of you still having so much sex?”

“Shut up,” Chris mutters, his ears red as he breezes past them towards the car, and you laugh. 

***

“Jisung,” Chris begins, “if you drink anything else that's not water tonight, I will kick you out of the band.” 

He’s not serious, of course, but it’s easy to be exasperated when Han is lying on the sand with one shoe missing, smelling very strongly of soju and vaguely of vomit, his shirt unbuttoned and dyed-blue hair plastered to his forehead. It’s the last night of the festival, and Han, who swears by ‘go big or go home’ in nearly every aspect of his life, has decided to get absolutely shit-faced, spending his evening in a flurry of booze and pretty boys and prettier girls, Changbin trailing in his wake. 

“You can’t do that, hyung,” Han slurs, “we can’t be 3RACHA if there aren’t three of us.”

“Changbin and I can just be 2BASCO,” Chris shoots back, and Han laughs so hard he starts wheezing.

You smile, and then you exhale a cloud of smoke into the air, cigarette between your fingers. The group of you are off in a quieter part of the event, some distance away from the main stage, and the air almost feels fresher, without the sweaty bodies packed together with the tang of alcohol, the bass a distant throb instead of jackhammering into your skull. 

Changbin is sitting next to you, picking at the label of a half-empty water bottle, and he’s starting to get his bearings again, given his snort at Chris' comment. 

Han is a different story altogether, because when Chris tries to haul him to his feet, he stumbles, and then he gets an expression on his face that you recognize from all the clubbing you did when you were in university.

"Fuck, hyung, I think I need to puke-"

Chris looks alarmed, and he hurriedly shepherds Han off towards the toilets, lest he throw up all over the sand and ruin the beach. 

You roll your eyes, and Changbin shakes his head.

“Jisung doesn’t do anything in moderation, does he,” you remark, wryly.

“All in, I suppose,” Changbin says, and both of you laugh. 

You tap ash into the soda can you’re using as a makeshift ashtray, and take another drag. 

Changbin drains the rest of his water, and crushes the bottle in his hand. He makes an attempt at tossing it into a nearby dustbin, and he’s definitely sobering up, because it at least hits the rim of the trash can, even if it does bounce off and land on the sand.

He whines, adorably, and reluctantly peels himself off the bench to dispose of the bottle properly, before slumping back down at the table. He pillows his head on his arms, and the two of you sit quietly, the exhaustion of the last few nights catching up to you.

After a few long moments, Changbin turns his head to look at you. 

“Noona?”

“Hm?” 

You exhale more smoke into the sky.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“What’s up?” you ask, and Changbin shifts, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Have you and Chan-hyung thought about getting married?”

You actually drop your fucking cigarette, and Changbin startles upright, his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Ah, I don’t mean to pry, I was just curious -”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” you tell him, stubbing out your fallen cigarette with your shoe, lest the lit end set something on fire, “you just caught me by surprise.”

There’s a moment of silence, and you shrug.

“It’s not something we’ve really thought about, we’re happy where we are now,” you say. You and Chris have lived together for nearly two years, been together for almost four, and you’re content with the rhythm you have now, cohabiting in your little apartment, your lives meshed together but not legally entwined. 

Changbin looks at you, and he seems a little awkward. 

“The two of you are good for each other,” he offers, “you’re happy, but I think you could both be happier.” 

You’re spared having to answer by Han and Chris returning, the younger man all but flinging himself onto the table.

“I’m dying,” Han declares, and Chris shakes his head as he trails after at a more leisurely pace. 

“Drink less next time,” he says, rapping Han on the head, and all he gets in response is a string of words in what sounds like garbled Malay. 

Chris looks at you, and smiles.

“Shall we head back to the hotel? I think we’re all done for the night,” he says, and you dig the car keys out of your purse. 

Getting Han and Changbin to the car is a bit of a trial, because Han is acting like a limp noodle, hanging off Chris shoulders, and Changbin’s sleepy, which means he’s moving like a sloth, but eventually you manage to get them into the backseat. 

You slide into the driver’s side, and Chris drops down into the passenger seat, the two of you sighing in relief. Han is sprawled out in the back, and Changbin is curled up next to him, the two of them already dozing off. 

“I feel like a parent," Chris complains lightly, "is this what my mom felt, when I ate three bags of gummy snakes and threw up all over the car?"

You laugh, turning the keys in the ignition. The radio starts up, and you turn it down, the strains of a soft Korean ballad filling the vehicle. 

"How old were you?" you ask, as you start the engine and ease the car out of the lot, and Chris hums. 

"Five," Chris admits readily, and it's a cute thought, him as a young kid excitedly stuffing his face with candy. You've seen the pictures - he'd been an adorable child.

He reaches across the gear shift, and sets his hand on your thigh, the weight of it warm against your skin as you navigate through the streets of Seogwipo, the voice of the GPS almost unbearably chirpy given the lateness of the hour. It’s a short drive back to the hotel, barely ten minutes, which is why you’d offered to play designated driver. 

“I’m looking forward to tomorrow,” you tell him, and he smiles. The two of you have a proper vacation scheduled, a full five days in Jeju without responsibilities and obligations, and it’s an exciting prospect. You and Chris haven’t really been able to spend time together over the last few months, the two of you busy with your careers, and the vacation will definitely do you both some good. 

“Me too,” Chris murmurs, and you smile. 

***

The next morning dawns bright and sunny, and sees you and Chris wandering around the markets of Seogwipo-si, buying and eating whatever catches your fancy. You’d agreed to take things slow for the first day of your vacation, having moved from the city hotel you’d booked for the festival to a smaller pension with a view of the sea. You’re both still recovering from the hectic buzz of the last three nights, and it’s nice to walk around the city, your fingers tangled together, sampling the variety of food on offer in lieu of eating a proper breakfast or lunch.

“We’re going to regret this in the afternoon,” you tell Chris, feeding him bits of kimchi jeon with your fingers, and he shrugs. 

“We can get some snacks to put in the car,” he suggests, and you figure that works just as well, taking a bite out of the potato croquette he offers you. The two of you are sitting on a bench by the water, and there’s an assortment of street food spread out around you, you and Chris feeding each other and talking idly, the sound of waves crashing against the shore as a background to your conversation. 

“Where are we going after this?” you ask, once most of the food has been devoured and you’re nibbling on bindaetteok, and Chris hums, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Changbin’s mother had helpfully supplied the two of you with an itinerary, when she’d heard you were vacationing in Jeju and that it’d be your first time really experiencing the island, and out of laziness you’re both content to follow her suggestions.

“Eomeonim suggested we go to the Jeju Stone Park,” he says, “it’s got some cool rock formations and statues, apparently.”

“How far away is it?” 

Chris pokes at his phone. 

“About thirty minutes if we drive,” he says, and you smile. 

“Sure,” you say, “that sounds nice.” 

He beams at you, and the two of you pack up, getting rid of your trash and stopping by a convenience store to pick up some snacks to stash in the car. Chris is driving, because you only do so when there’s an absolute need, and like something out of a teen movie he rolls down the windows of your rental car as he drives along the coast. 

There’s music blasting from the speakers - your road trip playlist has expanded in the almost-four years since Chris first put it together, on your trip to the Great Ocean Road, and there’s something refreshing about having Paramore playing in the background, the wind in your hair and the smell of sea salt thick in the air. 

It’s a short drive, and soon the two of you are walking through the park, admiring the different formations and taking photos of everything. Chris insists on taking numerous pictures of you, but tries to avoid your camera every time you try to return to the favour. 

“How else am I going to tell everyone about how my handsome rapper boyfriend brought me to Jeju for a romantic holiday if you don’t let me have any photos of you,” you complain, and he whines, as if he’s seven and not, in fact, nearly twenty-seven. 

“It’s post-festival, Y/N, I look like shit.”

“And so do I,” you retort, curling your hand around his elbow and reeling him in towards you, “come here.” 

He’s a little less camera shy when you’re both in the photo, and you snap several selfies before approaching one of the other tourists on the trail, an older Korean couple, to take a few snapshots of the two of you standing with the formations in the background, the sky blue and the hills rolling on for miles. You help take a few photos of them in return, and the ahjumma smiles at you.

“The two of you are a very lovely couple,” she says, and it reminds you a lot of that first walk you and Chris did in Sydney, when another older lady had said something similar and you’d brushed it off. 

“Thank you,” you tell her, and she ambles off with her husband. 

Chris slings his arm around your waist, and pecks you on the cheek. 

“Shall we?” he says, gesturing at the rest of the park that awaits you, and you smile.

“Of course.” 

***

You spend the second day of your trip hiking along one of the many coastal trails in Jeju, dragging Chris to the casino with you after, and the way his eyes glaze over from boredom while watching your poker game is honestly hilarious. The third day of the holiday is spent lazing by the beach, because that’s typically how your vacations with Chris go - interspersing activity with relaxation. 

The water at Jungmun Beach is a gorgeous blue, the sun is high in the sky, and it’s not too crowded, with a scattering of people across the shore. 

You’re in a simple bikini, one that shows off the ink you’ve collected over the years, and Chris is a vision as usual, a Greek god in floral boardshorts.

You catch a couple of school-age girls tittering nervously when he pulls off his t-shirt, and if you're smug about the faint bruises around his collarbones that's between you and your teeth. 

“Race you to the water,” Chris says impishly, and you laugh as the two of you run towards the ocean, acting like you’re teenagers again. The water is warm, the sky is blue, and you’re content to just float along with the waves, listening to the seagulls in the air and the joyful screams of children by the shore.

Chris catches you by the waist, and tugs you against him, tucking his chin over your shoulder.

"This is nice," he tells you.

“It is,” you reply, and you lean into his embrace. 

You've always loved the ocean, because there’s something about the salt and the sea that sings to you, and being with Chris by the beach brings you back, to a spring day in a small town an ocean away, the two of you gazing out at the horizon, on the precipice of something different.

He presses a kiss to your hair, tender and affectionate, and you curl your fingers around the arm that’s at your waist, squeezing. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, and you smile, turning so that you can cup his cheek.

“Being by the beach with you reminds me of Gerroa,” you tell him.

He beams.

“That was a good trip."

“If it wasn’t for that trip we wouldn’t be here,” you say, looping your arms around his neck, and he tightens his hold on your waist. 

“If you hadn’t needed a lighter outside that bar in Sydney, that trip wouldn’t have happened at all,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours.

It’s true. If you hadn’t forgotten your lighter, that fateful spring night, you’d have probably never talked to Chris, never struck up conversation and exchanged Instagram handles. Heck, if you hadn't decided to drop everything to spend a year in Australia, if you hadn't agreed to go watch that gig - you wouldn’t be here, soaking up the Jeju sunshine with the man you love by your side, tangled together in the waves. 

“I think we were meant to be,” you tell him softly, almost like a confession.

He smiles, sweet and tender. 

“I think so too.”

The two of you enjoy the water for a while longer before heading back to shore. You’d borrowed a beach umbrella from your accommodation, and so you settle down on the blanket under it, pulling out the novel you’d started on the plane ride to Jeju. Chris sits down next to you, stretching out on the mat. 

“Watch out!”

You look up, and Chris sits up sharply, catching the beach volleyball that comes bouncing in your direction, sending up a spray of sand. 

A kid of about ten comes running up. 

“Sorry about that!” he says, apologetic, “thank you for catching my ball.”

There’s a bunch of other kids off in the distance, looking at your interaction, and Chris just laughs.

“No worries," Chris tells him, returning the ball to the boy, and the kid looks at him.

"You've got big muscles," he blurts out, "wanna come even out our numbers?” 

“Sure," Chris says, and he gets to his feet, flashing you one of his supermodel-worthy grins before running off to play beach volleyball with the kid and his friends. You can’t help the fondness you feel, and you’re sure anyone looking at you would be well aware that you’re smitten. 

“Ah, sorry,” a voice says, in accented, somewhat stilted English, and you turn your head to look at the older Korean woman sitting on a mat a few feet away from you, “my son and his friends are… noisy.” 

You smile back at her.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply in Korean, “kids will be kids.”

She blinks at you. 

“Your Korean is very good,” she tells you, sounding a lot more comfortable in her native tongue, and you laugh. You've been living in Korea for two years, and while the language comes far easier these days, it's still a challenge, and you and Chris default to English most of the time. 

"Thank you," you answer, "I've been here for a while, but there's still lots to learn."

There's a loud whoop from the volleyball game, and you look over at Chris and the kids, your lips curving into a smile.

"Are you two here on your honeymoon?" the lady asks, and you shake your head.

"Ah no, we're not married," you say, and she hums. The two of you make idle small talk, until the volleyball game ends and the gaggle of kids come running back, screaming about ice-cream. You offer to keep an eye on the children while she goes to the convenience store to fulfil their requests for sweet treats, and Chris joins them in digging holes in the sand and making messy sandcastles.

He's a sweetheart, so when the lady returns, carrying bags of treats, he gets to his feet and helps her with them. He hands out ice cream to the kids, and sits next to you, the two of you sharing a popsicle and enjoying the afternoon sun, the children and their chaperone a welcome addition to the day. 

Your heart feels full, and you realise that you want to hold on to this forever.

***

Okay, so maybe you'd lied, when you told Changbin you and Chris hadn't really talked about marriage.

It’s something that actually comes up a fair bit, given that you’re pushing thirty and he isn’t all that far away from it. A lot of people in your lives have broached the topic, from Chris’ parents to your landlady to the ahjussi who runs the samgyetang restaurant down the road from your house. It’s something that hovers at the edge of your relationship, a next step that neither of you are in a hurry to take. 

There had been jokes about it, offhand remarks here and there, awkward laughter and wry smiles whenever other people brought it up, but it had come up seriously a year ago, after Xinling's wedding and all the pomp and circumstance surrounding it. 

Chris had gone with you, as your plus one, a trip that doubled up as an opportunity for him to meet your friends and the few relatives you still care about. 

In the aftermath, late at night in your hotel room as you took the pins out of the elaborate updo you'd had as part of your maid-of-honour getup, he'd sat down on the edge of the bed, tipping his head up to the ceiling.

"Have you ever thought about getting married?" he'd asked, and you'd shrugged.

"Not really," you'd admitted, "it's just rings and paperwork, if you get down to it."

You'd worked a few divorce cases, in the short time you were actively practicing as a lawyer, and they were always ugly. As far as you're concerned, people don't need a piece of paper to prove they're in love - it really is just a formality, to streamline house-buying and taxes and other bureaucratic inanities.

You're not opposed to it, but you don't really see the point, and you say as much.

Chris had stood up then, coming up behind you to help with your hair.

"What if I asked?" he'd murmured, his big hands nimble, steadily undoing the complicated braid and brushing out the product in it, "if I asked you to marry me, would you say yes?"

You'd met his eyes in the mirror, your gazes locked for a long, slow moment, the two of you at the precipice of something different, a coin in the air. 

"Ask me properly," you had told him, and he smiled, pulling you against him, warm and firm against your back.

"Of course," he'd said, and that had been the end of that.

***

Hiking up Hallasan has been on your to-do list ever since you moved to Korea, and hitting the peak and staring out at the volcanic crater nestled in the centre of it, the lake brilliant blue and greenery lush and vibrant, is like a moment of epiphany.

You’re almost transfixed by the sight, just enjoying the view and the mountain air after taking dozens of photos, and Chris drops an arm over your shoulders, offering you a piece of kimbap you’d picked up from the convenience store. 

You accept it gratefully. 

“Man, I didn’t realise how hungry I was,” you remark, and Chris laughs. You’d started your hike early, at eight in the morning, and it had taken four hours to get up the mountain, navigating the steep steps and inclines of the sleeping volcano. Neither you nor Chris are in bad physical shape, but the honest truth is that weights and yoga don’t really do much when climbing up the largest mountain in South Korea.

“Maybe I should have spent more time on the stair machine,” Chris says, and you snort.

“Just climb the stairs to our apartment,” you tell him, and he gives you a pained expression. 

You finish up your snacks, and he goes to dispose of your trash. 

You take one last long look at the crater, taking a full breath of the summer air. Something about being on the peak of Hallasan is soothing, the serenity of the mountain washing over you. It’s not an easy feeling to find, and you hold on to it, for as long as you can, before exhaling slowly. 

When you turn, Chris is looking at you with an inscrutable expression on his face. 

“What’s up?” you ask, and he blinks, shaking his head. 

“Ah, it’s nothing, was just spacing out,” he tells you, and you shrug, reaching out to hold his hand. He accepts the gesture, and lifts your joined hands to press a kiss to your knuckles, which makes you smile. 

“Ready for the hike down?” he asks.

You sigh dramatically. 

“My knees are gonna hate me,” you answer, and he laughs. 

***

It’s the last night of your vacation, and you and Chris are walking back to the car after dinner at a gorgeous, traditional Korean-style restaurant by the water, a bit of a drive away from Seogwipo-si. He’d managed to get a table on the balcony, right by the ocean, and it had been lovely and romantic, the two of you chatting over the sheer variety of dishes spread across the table. 

You’d spent the morning at Seongsan Ilchubong, gazing out the ocean, and caught the divers in action, something that you’d found incredibly impressive. The afternoon had been idle, just exploring one of the museums near the city, and dinner had been the icing on the cake, a lovely way to wrap up your final evening in Jeju. 

“Are you tired?” Chris asks, and you shrug.

“I’m alright,” you answer, “why?”

“One of the guys I met at the festival told me about this stargazing spot,” he says, “it’s not that far from here, I was wondering if you’d like to go.”

The thing about Seoul is that - well, it’s a city. It’s neon and chrome, skyscrapers high across the skyline, and that means that stars are a rare sight, the light pollution making it such that the brightest thing in the sky at night is usually a passing airplane. 

“Sure,” you tell him. 

It isn’t too long a drive, and soon he pulls up at a small cliffside. The ocean ahead is dark, but it’s a full moon, and the sky above is beautiful, dotted with sparkling stars, twinkling across the expanse of the night sky like diamonds, a whole universe of them above your heads.

“It’s gorgeous,” you say, and Chris exhales softly.

“It really is.” 

You clamber up onto the back of the car, sitting on the boot and leaning back against the rear window, and Chris joins you, the two of you sitting in silence. He’s found an electric lantern somewhere - you’d brought it along for the music festival, although you hadn’t needed it, but you’re glad to have it now, casting some illumination in the dark night. 

He offers you a cigarette, and you take a drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. Chris lights up one of his own, and the two of you gaze up at the stars. 

“Reminds me of Gerroa,” he says, repeating your words from the beach, and you laugh. This trip to Jeju has been wonderful, a new experience that’s somehow been overlaid with past memories, and you’re feeling nostalgic.

“Can’t believe it’s been three and a half years,” you remark, and he pulls you closer. 

“Time flies.”

You hum in agreement, and when you finish your cigarettes, the two of you sit in silence, enjoying the quiet. You roll your shoulders back, and slide off the car in order to stretch a little, looking at the stars in the horizon, dancing over the water.

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Mmm?” you ask, and Chris comes to stand beside you. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“What’s up?” you say, turning to face him, and then you blink, because he’s fumbling something out of his pocket, and then he drops to one knee, and - 

That’s a ring in his hand, nestled in a small velvet box, a gorgeous gold band with a lovely diamond in the middle, surrounded by a cluster of smaller stones, illuminated by the moon high in the sky. 

You stare, and Chris flushes. 

“You told me to ask you properly,” he says, and you think back to that hotel room almost a year ago, “so this me doing it.” 

He swallows nervously, and then he looks you in the eye. 

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he says, so incredibly honest and raw and open, “and I want to be with you forever.”

He inhales sharply. 

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

There’s something between the two of you, potent and electric, like being on the precipice and taking a leap, when the coin is in the air and you don’t know which way it’s going to fall.

But this time, you  _ know _ , and you’re helpless to stop the smile that’s spreading across your face.

“Yes,” you breathe, “of course I'll marry you.”

He beams, bright and brilliant, and you throw yourself at him, kissing him fiercely and deeply. He returns it, the two of you tangled together in the dirt on the cliffside, under the stars and the moon.

He breaks the kiss, and you offer him your left hand so that he can slide the ring on. It fits perfectly around your finger, and you smile. 

“How did you know my ring size?”

“Xinling,” he says, which explains everything, “remember when she made you go jewellery shopping with her before the wedding?”

You lean back to look at him, cupping his cheek. 

“You’ve been planning this,” you murmur, gently, and he turns his head to press a kiss to your palm, soft and fluttering, his smile a little shy. 

“I love you,” you say, and he mirrors your gesture, resting one broad hand against your neck. 

“I love you too.”

You lean in to kiss him again. 

***

Chris is lying in bed, dressed in his boxers with his hair still damp, looking at something on his phone, when you emerge from your shower. You're clad in a bathrobe, belted loosely around your waist, and you drop yourself into his lap.

He sets his phone aside, and wraps his arms around your waist.

"Hi," he says, "what's up?"

"Wondering if you'd like to fool around a little," you say, and he smiles broadly, tucking his face into the crook of your shoulder, kissing the skin there with just an edge of teeth.

"I'd be happy to do more than just fool around," he tells you, and you curl your fingers in his hair, yanking his head up to pull him into a kiss that's needy and messy but yet oddly tender.

You pull back, and rest your hand against his cheek. The ring sits on your finger, glimmering in the dim light, and he takes your hand in his, pressing kisses to your fingertips and over the band of gold. 

"You're my fiancée now," he murmurs, a little awed at the fact, and then he kisses you deeply, rolling you so that you're splayed out on the bed. Your robe is coming loose, and so you yank at the tie around your waist, letting it unravel and bare your skin to him. 

He's always been worshipful, and he kisses his way down your body, mouthing at your breasts and sucking marks into your skin, and then he settles between your legs, pressing a kiss to where you're wet and open.

"Can I?" he asks, and you nod, tangling your fingers in his hair.

"Of course, darling," you murmur, and then you moan sharply as he goes for it, eating you out messy and wet, his tongue flicking against your clit in sharp, firm strokes. You pull at his hair, when he slips a finger into you, the slickness of your pussy making the slide easy. 

You come on his tongue, with three of his fingers curled and buried deep inside you, and he pulls away with a smirk on his face as you catch your breath, sucking your wetness from his fingers in a way that makes the want coil hot in your belly.

He's hard, tenting his boxers in a way that's almost obscene, his desire obvious, and you reach out, curling your palm around the length of him and eliciting a soft moan.

"Can I put my mouth on you?" you murmur into his ear, shrugging the robe from your shoulders, and he presses his mouth to yours, the taste of yourself thick on his tongue.

"Please," he says, and he kicks off his boxers. He whines a little, when you get your fingers around his cock, slick and hard, and he bucks his hips when you close your mouth around the tip of it, bobbing your head and laving at it with your tongue. The salt of him is a heady taste, and you relish it, the weight of him in your mouth, the way his hips move and the little pants that fall from his lips.

"Baby," he manages, "please, wanna come in you." 

That sends fire down your spine, and you pull off, letting him haul you up into a filthy kiss, his fingers slipping between your legs. You've been on birth control since your late teens, and you and Chris use condoms very infrequently, but the thought of him burying himself inside you and filling you up still hits you in the gut every time.

You settle on top of him, and you both moan when he slides into you, the stretch and the heat exhilarating. He bites at your collarbones, and you return the favour, sucking a ring of bruises around his throat.

You ride him hard and fast, and then he pushes you down onto the bed, one leg curled around his waist, and fucks you raw and hard and open. Your fingers scrabble for purchase, digging into his shoulders and leaving marks, and his grip on your thighs is bruising, the two of you chasing pleasure, harsh breathing and hungry moans passing in the space between your lips.

"Come on, sweetheart," you say, pulling him closer, "in me, come on-"

He drags his fingers between your legs, as he thrusts deeper and harder.

You feel him spill inside you, hot and wet, and his fingers twist across your clit, hard, fast, and you come, biting a bruise into his shoulder as you ride out your orgasm. 

You tip your head up to kiss him, his hand curled around your neck, and it's tender and sweet.

***

3RACHA’s studio is just fifteen minutes away from your office on foot, so even though you’re swamped with a backlog of work that’s going into overtime, you make the executive decision to take an hour out to join them for dinner, Somin walking along beside you. She’s been a steady presence by your side ever since she got hired to help manage your avalanche of work, and she's become a friend, through all long hours and the late nights. She's pretty well-acquainted with Chris and the guys at this point, so inviting her along is an easy decision. 

“Thanks for holding down the fort,” you tell her, as you walk towards the kalguksu restaurant located between your workplace and 3RACHA’s. It’s your first day back at the office, after your trip, and you've barely had a chance to talk to her properly, thanks to your entire day being an endless flurry of paperwork and meetings. 

Somin smiles. 

“Don’t worry, unnie, you deserved a vacation, you work so hard. Had a good one?” 

“The best,” you say lightly, and she laughs as the two of you duck into the restaurant. Chris, Han, and Changbin are already seated, and they wave the two of you over. It’s a mess of saying hello and asking after each other, and you slide into the space next to Chris, cupping his cheek with your left hand when you kiss him in greeting. 

Changbin gasps loudly, and Somin turns her head, her eyes widening. 

“Oh my god, Y/N-unnie,” she says, staring at your hand, “is that-”

“Hyung, you did it!” Han all but fucking yells, “and noona, you said yes!”

Changbin looks like he’s about to cry tears of joy, and you look at Chris, at the helpless little smile on his face, and you laugh.

The diamonds in your ring glitter under the fluorescents of the restaurant, and you don’t know if you’ve ever been happier. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> \- I hope you liked this, Ellie <3  
> \- This is the [ring](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/861876447437063347/), btw.  
> \- A friend from school got engaged recently, and a very close friend got engaged as well shortly after, so those served as the inspiration for what the “end goal” of this piece wound up being. I also put quite a lot of my feelings about growing up and growing old into this fic, in Y/N’s conversation with Hyunjin - we’re all going at our own pace, and that’s okay, but we sometimes feel like we’re being left behind. Life isn’t a race.  
> \- Thank you for following along on this series! This was supposed to be the end of what I planned for ‘these hands are meant to hold’, but as I am writing this author note, a muse for what comes next in this series has taken up residence in my brain. So don’t hold your breaths, but also don’t go away just yet :)  
> \- Comments and kudos are always lovely, and I am always happy to talk about fandom/K-pop/life over at [@omaisvt](https://www.instagram.com/omaisvt/), on Instagram.


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